Collapsed Dreams
by mistymay951
Summary: In the midst of a crippling war, Team Avatar had constructed a plan; they were supposed to stay together, stay alive, but then Korra caught a glimpse of Amon's mask snaking through the crowd, a tyrant amongst his mindless minions, and the plan, the one they had constructed so meticulously, spiraled to hell. Rated T for language & violence. Part 3/3 is up! COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Collapsed Dreams

Part 1: _Are we broken?_

Team Avatar had had a plan; they were supposed to stay together- _strength in numbers_, Mako had said, looking pointedly at her- but then she caught a glimpse of Amon's mask snaking through the crowd, a tyrant amongst his mindless minions, and the plan, the one they had constructed so meticulously, spiraled to hell, just like the city- _just like the world_, she thinks bitterly. So instead of maintaining formation, like she had promised, Korra bolts into the hellfire, pursuing the madman with an unprecedented speed, like she wasn't exhausted from a night of fitful sleep and graphic nightmares, like she hadn't been hit by more than one electrified glove today, like she is the hero everyone wants to believe she is.

She chases him through the crowd, being as discrete as possible, sticking to his flank like molasses, always just one step behind him as she dodges bolas and gloves, weaving between friend and enemy alike. Suddenly, a glove strikes her on the leg, hard, burning her flesh raw and leaving in its wake charred skin and wounded pride. She screams out in absolute pain and shock, not exactly prepared for the feeling of 1000 volts of electricity racing beneath her skin, and only then does Amon glance, just briefly, over his shoulder, picking up his pace to accommodate the Avatar's pursuit. _Coward_, she thinks as she regains her bearings and proceeds to bend the shit out of the equalist who dared mess with her, before continuing her chase albeit with a quite noticeable limp. She loses sight of him for a minute, caught up in the complete destruction war has brought upon the once beautiful city, but, before long, she spots him again as he scales the side of building, his movements calculated and presumably effortless.

The building is one of those tall, historical ones that have a way of taking you back in time with their complete and total elegance, all brick and wood and beauty, but also a death trap if your not careful, there are far too many Termiterats to consider in such an urban area. Unfortunately, there is nothing but unadulterated rage in Avatar Korra's mind as she shoots chunks of solid earth and razor-sharp ice into the statuesque brick, aiming haphazardly for a target that was much too fast for her,_ for anyone_.

The first brick falls, fast and furious, towards the earth, grazing her tan arm before it thumps onto the ground like a grenade; in its wake lay a trail of blood, red as the flames that engulf the buildings around her and destroy everything she thought she knew: the Probending Arena, Air Temple Island, even Gommu's bush erupt in multicolored flames no longer safe. Not anymore, not while Amon's in charge. She can't help but curse the sprits under her breath because this madness was never part of her master plan. She was supposed to save the world, not cause it to come toppling down like some sort of industrial avalanche. And an avalanche it is, as bricks begin to fall from the heavens like holy projectiles.

She hears her name being cried out from somewhere in the crowd, she thinks it might be Bolin, but her eyes are glued to the collapsing structure, to the priceless damage she has caused, and she can't seem to look away from the horror- like Asami said, _it's hard to watch two cars crash, Korra, but it's even harder to look away_. Only when the bricks start pouring like heavy rain around her, scraping and bruising every piece of exposed flesh, and the screams of her involuntary victims penetrate her bubble does she spring to action. Summoning all her strength, her arms shoot up into the sky as she earthbends a rock dome up over the heads of herself and the people who happen to be the butts of her thoughtlessness. It takes every ounce of strength she has to sew together the earth and hold it above them; under her dome there are both equalists and benders, but when their lives suddenly flash before their very eyes, she guesses, they all become human before anything else because suddenly the fighting has ceased. Funny how things like that danger and death tend to bring us closer.

The rocks above her settle, and all too suddenly, it feels like the world is resting on her shoulders -_maybe it is_, she thinks-, but her moment of silent inquiry is short lived because keeping the structure erect is requiring her to maintain every ounce of concentration she can muster. Even the burning in her leg mutes to a dull ache, as the structure remains suspended around them, like frozen time, and she grunts in exertion as brick after relentless brick strikes rock and adds weight, _so much weight_, to the already impossibly heavy structure.

When she feels a sturdy hand clasp her shoulder she doesn't dare turn around or speak, for fear of collapsing the structure on herself and everyone else, instead she screams out in pain, a broken wail that penetrates the sound of colliding rock, an incoherent plea for help, and like a gift from the spirits, the weight lessens substantially as another earth bender joins her in bending the dome. Finally able to function, Korra turns breathlessly around to see a beaten, but not broken, Bolin. She scans him, looking for any prominent injuries because, no matter what the bending brothers say, she involved them in this revolution and that makes them her responsibility. He's a little torn up, dirt and blood crust around a particularly nasty gash in his arm, turning the wound copper, and when he turns his head the right way in the low light, she can see his eye is blackened and swollen, a shiner if she's ever seen one, but other than that she can identify no serious injuries, and her sigh of relief is louder than perhaps appropriate given the situation. She's almost tempted to reach out, to stroke his face, and make sure that he's as real as he seems to be, but, even with Bolin helping now, she must focus a majority of her energy on the dome and conserve what little she can.

"You look like hell," he says bluntly, skipping courtesies as he scans her body with his concerned eyes, and, maybe, if she had any modesty left at all, she would slap the silly boy for letting those green eyes linger a little too long on places that are most definitely not injured, but rules, courtesies, change when war erupts, and she'd be lying if she said she gave a shit about who stares anymore.

For the first time that night, she scans herself with trained eyes, scrutinizing every scratch and bruise littering her skin and deciding which will scar, which will take months to heal, which ones she should be particularly worried about. Her left leg, the one that took the blunt of the electrocution, is unrecognizable beneath her torn and burnt pants, and she can't help but think it is reminiscent of something from a cheap horror film, like the ones her and Bolin would go to see on Friday nights just to make fun of them- _nobody really looks like that_, she'd say, mocking the low budget zombies, _I mean they're covered in ketchup for spirits sake_. Then he'd laugh and she would too. It was so simple.

Humorlessly she thinks to herself, _Karma's a bitch,_ because now her leg looks a lot like those "phony" creatures, red and blue, skin charred and curling from one too many volts of electricity, covered partially by burnt and blood soaked fabric, that clings to her wounds like glue, and while the rest of her is not particularly clean by any means, it is at least passable.

"I've had worse," she says a little too quickly, because they both know it's a complete lie and that twelve years in a secluded compound could never prepare her for this kind of physical abuse, for the incessant ache that starts in her toes and seems to stretch on forever, burning her legs and leaving her fingers on pins and needles until the world feels too fuzzy to be genuine, and for a second, she can't help but wish that this _was_ all a dream, a horrific and chilling nightmare, but a dream nonetheless.

"Where are Mako and Asami?" she asks suddenly, realizing too late that she must not have been the only one to break protocol.

"Asami got a pretty nasty bang on the head from a bola and passed out on the battlefield. Shin carried her to the arena, that's where their keeping the injured and...," he trails off. So many dead.

"And Mako?" she insists a little more urgently, not really wanting to think about the lives that have been lost. _That part will come later._

He stares at her dumbly for a second, "_I thought he was with you_," and that's when her stomach drops and her world turns red as the dome shakes precariously above them, her befuddlement leaving Bolin to pick up the slack.

Her mouth opens and closes as her brain scrambles to form coherent sentences- _But he was supposed to be with you, remember. You promised to stay together._

_They had all promised…_

"Why would you think that," she asks, and she can't help but cringe at the desperation that leaks from her voice because she wants this-_needs this_- to he some kind of sick, twisted joke.

"When you ran off towards Amon, he ran after you, and I guess I just _assumed_ you two rendezvoused," he says slowly, trailing off as bitter, unforgiving reality slaps him in the face. The reality where his brother, the one who has taken care of him his entire life, the one who has chased away every nightmare, his only family, his makeshift father, his best friend, is suddenly and indefinitely gone with nothing more than a tainted legacy to survive him.

His eyes grow wide, overtaken with crippling panic that Korra hopes she will never again have to see corrupt his typically vibrant, malachite eyes, "We have to find him!" he nearly screams in her ear, breaking the silence that seems to have settled underneath the dome, "What if Amon has taken his bending? What if he's dying? Or dead? Oh spirits, Korra, he can't die, not yet, he promised…" his speech breaks into disjointed babbling, incoherent to everybody but himself, and she tries desperately to console him, her hand reaching out to stroke his shoulder and push away the confused tears that are gathering in the corners of his eyes. She murmurs comforts under her breath, quiet enough that only he can hear, word and phrases, things she thinks her mother would have said to him, her tongue heavy with the drawl of her native language. She's never been any good at this kind of stuff, and she hopes her movements aren't as awkward as they feel, but despite both their discomfort, he settles down, his breathing shaky and uneven.

"Bolin, you need to listen carefully," she says, her index finger still tracing pictures into his sleeve, "You need to stay here and keep this dome up until everyone has been evacuated, get them to safety, and then meet up with Asami and make sure she's okay. Understood?"

"But Mako…"

"I'll find him," she promises, hoping she sounds more confident than she feels, for Bo's sake, _of course,_ "I swear I will do everything in my power to get your brother back, but I _need_ you to trust me."

For a second, she's sure he will refuse, he'll be stubborn and insist that he go because Mako is _his _family, and he almost does- _almost_- but something about the way she is looking at him, her eyes full of something akin to desperation, causes him to yield.

"Go," he murmurs, and go she does, whipping away like a Wolfbat as she drops the rest of the dome into Bolin's capable arms, nearly missing the _Be careful_ that drips from his lips like honey before she bends herself an exit and disappears into the bloodshed once again.

It's takes her eyes a moment to readjust to the streaming evening sunlight that momentarily blinds her, making her, for whatever reason, miss the muted darkness of her dome, where time stopped and the world ceased to burn. But she has a job to do, something that cannot be done with her face hidden from the world.

Once her eyes are adjusted to the orange glow that the setting sun has dyed the city, she scans the horizon, not quite sure where to start. The building, the last tangible landmark or her recent pursuit, is gone now. Shattered all over the concrete of the city, chunks of brick dispersed like pieces of a puzzle, and the only regret she can bring herself to feel is for not killing the bastard in the process. The fighting, fortunately, has seemed to have move away from this area, and she thanks the spirits before running down an adjacent alley, towards the last place she saw Amon.

The alley is rocky, covered with the remnants of her brash actions, and she stumbles several times, her orientation still a little hazy, before flat out falling, her bad leg banging against the alley wall in the process. She bites her tongue if only to keep from screaming as pain shoots up her leg and sets her nerves on fire. Using her arms, she pulls herself against the alley walls, leaning her head against the brick and squeezing her eyes shut as she tries, desperately, to regulate breathing, but it's hard when there stars are dancing across her vision and it seems like the stinging, the burning, the absolute pain will never fade away.

But it does because like every other evil in the world, pain is an impermanent part of life. Her eyes lull open and spot a puddle not far off. The water is stagnant and dirty, but it is water and she's not all that picky. She summons the it to her fingertips, reveling, momentarily, in the feel of it wrapped around her calloused fingers, before bringing her water coated hand to her leg and sealing the skin back together and then moving on to the rest of her body. The healing is crude at best, due to the combination ticking time and shaking hands, and she already knows they will scar; she can see the X's and O's imprinting themselves on her skin, but the time to care about appearances is long past: there are more important things at hand.

She drops the water and pulls herself slowly to her feet, ignoring the blood that rushes to her head, and pushes forward through the alley, led, perhaps by instinct, towards the outskirts of town.

She doesn't know what makes her stop her borderline-frantic pursuit, what makes her halt and look, _really look_, around, Perhaps it's the spirits whispering in her ear, perhaps it's luck. Maybe she'll never know, but it happens; she stops and observes.

The alley has led her right to the edge of the city, the part where concrete buildings are replaced by ancient trees as far as the eye can see, and at first, all she can see is green and brown and industrial gray, but then she catches a glimpse of red, a bad omen amongst the muted brown of the forest.

She approaches it slowly, hesitantly, and reaches out to it. It's a strip of bright red fabric, tied meticulously onto a tree branch, and once her fingers brush the fabric, her greatest nightmare is confirmed: it's Mako's. She recognizes the feel of the fabric, the rough yet oddly comforting scratch of the cloth, like his touch. She had worn that scarf, felt it wrapped around her neck surrounding her with the smell of smoke and parchment, the smell of Mako, that scarf had saved her life from wrench, it had made her crazy, _he_ had made her crazy, and sometimes she wishes he would toss that scarf aside, accept that he can't live in the past forever, not when the present needs him more, but she would never ask him to do that, never could...

Her fingers unwrap the fabric delicately and retie it around her wrist- _for safe keeping_, she thinks- and looks around once again this time looking explicitly for red, and she finds it, about 50 yards into the woods, another piece of fabric, also tied meticulously to a tree. So meticulously... She squints and thinks she can see more red about 100 yards out, and that's when she knows. _This is a trap_. How could it not be? Conveniently placed fabric tied in perfect little knots right where she would find it.

But she promised Bolin she would find Mako- E_ven if it kills me?_ she wonders. The answer must be yes because she trudges into the woods and begins her hunt without a second thought. Each time she come across another strip of fabric, she ties it onto her wrist, some would say it's wishful thinking, others naivety, she hasn't quite decided yet.

The sun has set, and the effervescent glow of the burning city is replaced by the deafening silence of solitary forest as far as the eye can see, not that she can see much in this light. She has collected a little over a dozen strips of fabric by the time she comes across the cabin with a red cloth tied on the door handle. It's dark and silent, the perfect mirror to its environment. The shutters, that are locked tight, leave her completely ignorant to what waits for her on the interior, and she can't help but question her sanity as her fingers wrap delicately around the handle because she _knows_ this is a trap, and what if she doesn't come out of this alive? What she is being more impulsive than strategic? What if she's getting ahead of herself again?

_What if...?_

But as always, her heart is screaming louder than her head, and before she can even begin to question her complete and total brashness, the door has been kicked open and fire is dancing precariously across her fingertips.

She's not sure what she expected to find, but none of her imagined scenarios could ever be as gruesome as the one she encounter beyond that door, maybe it's because this is reality, and expectations can _never _be as poignant as reality.

Mako is gagged and tied like an animal to a chair in the center of the room. The only light comes from the smoldering embers in the brick fireplace, and the lowlight reflects grotesquely off the blood that pours from a deep gash above his eye; the shadows dance haughtily off his angular face and make him look like some sort of disfigured beast. The flames she was wielding go out, snuffed by the terror that grips her and leaves her breathless. She is scanning his body carefully noting the array of burns and scars that he has acquired in such a short period of time when his eyes snap open and lock onto hers.

It takes him a second to remember where he is and to piece together why _everything_ hurts, but once he does, he begins struggling against his bonds, choking and gagging himself as he tries to free his mouth. Korra waste no time jumping into action, crossing the room in one stride and working fast to untie the gag, her fingers are awkward and clumsy with fear filled adrenaline, and eventually, she resorts to just burning it off, ripping it shakily from his mouth and throwing at across the room

There are so many things she needs to say to him, to tell him, but he wastes no time, "Korra, you have to get out of here!" he says, his words too loud and his breathing too frantic in the eerily silent room; her shaking fingers reach out and stroke his face tenderly, trying to calm him, maybe herself too, "It's a trap, Amon is trying to lure you here! He wanted you to come so he could kill you himself, oh spirits..." But his rambling is cut off by the sound of the cabin door slamming, and a low chuckle resonating across the wood. She holds back a shudder of terror as she wonders if maybe, this could be the beginning of the end.

"How sweet," the voice says from the space _directly_ behind her, causing a shiver to dance down her spine, "Avatar Korra came back for her boyfriend."

She snaps around, her teeth bared as she summons fire to her palms, but before the flames can even reach her fingertips, Amon delivers a series of well placed jabs that leave her, at least for the moment, without bending, and when she summons all her energy in a pathetic attempt to strike him across the face, a chi-blocker snakes out of the shadows and holds her at bay.

"What do you want, Amon," she snarls, her voice an equal mix of venom and terror, as she struggles against her captor.

He takes a step closer to her, leaving mere centimeters between her defiant face and his stoic mask, before leaning down and whispering in her ear, " I want to make you scream."

Before she can even think about a response, he turns around and jabs Mako with a Kali-Stick, and the room fills with the sound of heart wrenching screams and electricity. She stands silently in the background, overwhelmed, heartbroken, terrified.

"I want to see you cry," he says, punctuating every syllable with another shock to Mako's beaten body, and this time she comes to her senses and screams with him, begging the tyrant to stop, to hurt her instead because this is _her_ war, not anybody else's.

"I want to see you _break_," he spits, throwing the Kali Stick aside and pulling out a dagger. He teases it across Mako's temple before grabbing a fistful of the boy's hair and forcing the knife under his neck, pushing the blade just enough to draw blood.

She can't help the scream, the tears, the way her voice cracks, "Stop! Please! He's not part of this! Please just let him go!"

She's not sure what Amon looks like under that mask, but she's pretty sure he's smirking as he pushes the knife further into Mako's neck, and her pleas become more frantic.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE! IM THE ONE YOU WANT! I'LL DO ANYTHING I SWEAR, JUST- JUST LET HIM GO!" she sobs, wishing that she could be stronger than this.

"_Anything_?" He asks, his interest piqued, and she's pretty sure she should be afraid of the way he manipulates the word, but all she can focus on is Mako's terrified gaze locked onto hers and the second of relief she feels as Amon pulls the knife away from his throat a fraction of an inch.

"Yes- yes, of course," she stutters, her voice cracking with relief because maybe she can still save him.

"Marry me, Avatar."

.

..

...

...

...

..

"_Ok."_

**Authors Note: **Wow, that was a hard write! I hope you liked it, and as always reviews are highly appreciated; it's always great to get some feedback and see how I can improve :) I plan on continuing this ASAP, so be expecting Part 2 fairly soon. I'm thinking it will probably be a pretty long two-shot (_maybe_ a 3 shot...) Well anyways, thank for taking the time to read, and have a beautiful day!


	2. Chapter 2

Collapsed Dreams

Part 2: _Pieces of Me_

She begs him, begs Amon, to give her one final moment with Mako- _Just let me heal him,_ she pleads her heart thumping wildly against her chest- and for some reason, unbeknownst to her, he allows her this one last request, stationing three chi blockers at the door before wandering silently into the night.

Mako hasn't said anything, hasn't moved his eyes from where they bear into hers since she had agreed with this demented plan, and frankly, it terrifies her. She kneels next to him, untying the bonds that restrain his hands, and once those are free, she moves down to the knots at his feet, but before she can even begin, his hands reach out and cup her face shakily, calloused finger tips caressing her cheeks, sending shivers down her skin.

"You don't have to do this, Korra," he begs, his voice shaky and unsure, barely audible in the deafeningly quiet room, "Please, _don't_."

She shakes her head, her stomach lurching at the desperation in his ocher eyes and pulls her face away, the raw emotions are too much for her to comprehend, to handle efficiently, so instead, she sticks to something she knows: bending. She burns the bonds around his legs away and summons water to her fingers, concentrating on fixing him, on making his skin flawless and beautiful once again. She owes him that. Her movements are concentrated and precise as she bends the physical scars away. She wonders, silently, if the emotional ones will ever truly heal; judging by the sadness in his eyes, she thinks the answer must be no.

She gets her thoughts in order and tries desperately to explain, hoping that, perhaps, he will be able to see the logic, see why this is a good thing.

"I have to do this Mako," she whispers, "this way the war ends, and we both live. It's better like this." Her voice cracks a little at the end because they both know it's a selfish way out; if she were as brave, as selfless, as everyone wants to believe she is, she would have killed Amon or died trying, but she can't just stand around and watch Mako get tortured to death, not when she thinks she might love him. _Not when he might love her back_. She finishes up his legs silently, moving her illuminated hands to his chest, then his head, and finally the shallow slit in his neck. She kisses this one lightly once she's finished, savoring the feel of his flesh under her lips, fighting back tears as she kneels in front of him.

She doesn't want to cry, to show him the fear she's been fighting for far too long, she's supposed to be tougher than that- _tough as nails.._.- and maybe if she can convince him that's she's okay with this, that she's not scared and confused, then perhaps she will be able to believe it to, but he's always been much too intuitive, especially when it comes to her, so when the first tear slips, breaking past her rock solid exterior, he's ready to swipe it away and gather her face in his hands once again. This time, though, she doesn't fight back, she gives in and nestles her face into his palms as tears stream silently down her cheeks; she reaches out blindly, looking for something to anchor herself to, afraid she might just drift away, and ends up wrapping her fingers around his forearms, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

"I hate you," he says sincerely, his voice rigid with emotion as he forces her to stare straight into his eyes, "You can't just come into someone's life and make them care like this. That's not fair," he growls as he tilts her chin up and captures her lips with his own. The power, the suddenness, shocks her to stillness, but like always, she's quick to give into her emotions, squeezing her eyes shut as she pours herself, her hopes and fears and dreams, into his lips. It's messy, teeth scraping and noses bumping as they try desperately to drink everything in. He tastes like soot and tears, whose tears, she's not sure, but in this moment, all she knows is calloused fingertips stroking her face and the feel of Mako's tongue slipping into her mouth.

As quick as it starts, it ends, as a chi-blocker grabs her from behind and yanks her away; he tries rising with her, desperately pushing his body into hers as his fingers tangle protectively in her hair, their lips still glued together, until an equalist, comes up behind him and pulls him back forcefully. She panics momentarily, biting hard into Mako's bottom lip in a desperate attempt to remain connected with him, but then they're pulled apart, and the frantic Avatar is dragged towards the fireplace as he is forced back into the chair, his breathing heavy.

He watches as she struggles against her restrainer, kicking and grunting and screaming, until her voice is hoarse and her body sore; begging and pleading and threatening, until all that remains is hollow words. Eventually, he averts his eyes, unable to bear the pain he sees boiling beneath her irises- _Maybe I'm the weak one? _he thinks.

The door opens and shuts with a bang loud enough to silence the frantic avatar, and the chi-blocker restraining her releases her hesitantly, only to have her lunge forward, quick as lightning, her hands catching the firebender's face and combing through his hair as she steals one last kiss.

"I love you," she whispers into his mouth before she is pulled forcibly back by Amon and dragged to the door. She fights him, defiant as ever even in defeat, even as she can feels the bruises his vice grip is leaving around her wrist, and as she's dragged into the inky night, she swears she can hear Mako's _I love you, _radiating all around her. At least, she hopes that's what it is.

..

….

..

The plans are set, faster than perhaps she is comfortable with. In one month's time, Amon and the Avatar would be married, with their union, the war would end, and whatever benders remained would be permitted to keep their gifts, this includes her. Being a bender is fine, Amon tells her with a conceited smirk.

_The act of bending is outlawed._

She notices quite quickly that the city is chock full of ignorant people, people who believe everything they're told, like the story that Amon and the beloved Avatar are star-crossed lovers whose marriage is for nothing more than pure, untainted love. They're right, in a way, it's love that drives her to marry Amon, love for _another_ boy, one with ocher eyes and a red scarf. _If only they knew_, she thinks, as the press smile at her with their unwavering eyes that never seem to see past the surface.

In their defense, Amon plays the part of fiancé well, his touches warm and his words convincing. His fingers splay across her back in public, warning the other suitors away with cold glares and alleged connections, and sometimes, when they walk the city together, silence setting over them like a heavy wool blanket, he'll twine their fingers intimately together- _star-crossed lovers indeed_, she retorts to herself, as she returns the gesture halfheartedly, her finger limp and lifeless in his grasp. She's never quite as enthusiastic about their liaison and nowhere near as believable; she just can't make her smile reach her eyes without her lunch coming out her mouth, but she tries, tries because Mako's life hangs in the balance and any wrong move could potentially put him six feet under. Sometimes Amon reprimands her for her lackluster behavior.

_She makes sure to hide the bruises well._

She's not allowed visitors anymore; naturally, the pretense is almost always wedding preparations. It seems like she's always "_shopping_" or "_tasting_" or "_resting for the big day_." Even when Asami comes to visit, her green eyes skeptical and hurt, Korra's not allowed to answer the door. Instead she remains locked in a room with her ear pushed against the wood, listening as her guard explains that- _No, I'm sorry, but Avatar Korra is not taking visitors at this time, _and, _Maybe if you come back another day... _She hears Asami argue, her voice raising an octave, a sure-fire sign she's knows she's being lied to, but eventually she stomps away, her heels clicking down the marble steps, and Korra isn't sure if she's upset or relieved. What was she supposed to tell Asami anyways, _I'm marrying Amon because I love Mako._

Yep that'll fly as well as a polar bear dog... So instead, she lays on the cold bedroom floor, staring numbly at the ceiling and thinking of the South Pole, of warm embraces and penguin sledding and the igloos she would build with her father on clear arctic mornings. He promised her that one day, when she found a man who treated her like the princess he knew she was, he would help her build an igloo to call her own, somewhere to raise her own family. What a silly thought now, she ponders humorlessly, her and Amon living happily ever after in an igloo.

She avoids thoughts of the city, of the people she's leaving behind, the ones who she might as well be betraying. The wounds are still too raw.

As the wedding date draws closer, looming over her like a storm, so does Amon, his affections becoming more and more apparent with the passing of time. At first, their "love" was a public affair, something they did only under the watchful eyes of the universe, on the streets or in a restaurant. _Strictly for show_- she somehow manages to convince herself, but then he starts doing it behind closed doors, holding her hand and playing with the ends of her frayed hair, allowing his fingers to linger a little longer and touch more intimate places: her cheek, her waist, her lips, tracing their delicate curve with gloved fingers, and one day, when he's dropping her off at the guarded home she's staying at, he pulls the bottom of his mask off and kisses her straight on the mouth, pushing his body flush into hers, as demanding lips cover her own, shielding them from the watchful eyes of the world. His gloved hands grip the back or her neck, tilting her head towards him, an obvious sign of control, while she stands rigid like a statue, her eyes wide open, shocked, until he pulls back and walks away without another word, leaving her to wonder, not for the first time, how real this is to him.

She sees Mako only once before the wedding, from her too soft seat in a too expensive restaurant. He is entering Narook's, probably to pick up Bolin's favorite dumplings, and for a second, she's surprised, surprised at how easily life goes on without her, it's a selfish thought really; she knows that, of course, life goes on, it's all a part of nature. _People move on and things change._ But then, as he's exiting the shop, Mako's eyes somehow find hers, perhaps instinctively, through the expensive glass, and she sees the loss, the mourning, the _love_ buried deep within him, and she thinks, perhaps, he hasn't moved on at all.

She would have stared at him forever, until the sky fell and her eyes ceased to blink, but Amon, watchful as ever from his seat across the table, grabs her chin and forces her to face him. She stares back defiantly, her cheeks pink with embarrassment, as she pulls her face back, an attempt to break free of his demanding hands, but he holds on, leaning across the table with venom in his eyes and the beginning of a snarl barely audible from under his mask, until she finally stills, more from annoyance than anything else. Only then does he drop her face; his point made. By the time she looks back outside, Mako has disappeared, blown away like a leaf in the wind.

The wedding approaches too fast, sneaking up on her and biting her in the ass before she even has a chance to question her own sanity. Only when the dress is presented to her, wrapped expertly in paper like some kind of treasure, does she begin to wonder if death would have been the more humane option.

Before she can object, chi blockers have stripped her naked, bathed her until her skin was red and raw, and sewn her into the white dress. She had wanted blue or green or red, anything but _white_ with is flawless complexion- _it's too perfect_, she would always tell Asami on those rare days they went shopping together, sticking her tongue out the corner of her mouth to show her displeasure, _nothing but arctic snow could ever deserve that kind of flawlessness. _But now she is enveloped in it, in this pure, perfect color that makes her feel anything but, and she can't help but feel sick to her stomach, as the dress falls into place around her bare feet. Because it's so perfect. Every seam, every stitch, every tier, falls with a type of natural ease that she's never had, and it makes her inexplicably angry.

_I am imperfect, _she wants to scream to nobody in particular_, I am flawed and human, and why should I pretend I'm not? Why's should I pretend I'm perfect? Why should I pretend...?_

_Because it's your job, _the little voice in her head whispers back. _Because you're the Avatar and that's what you're supposed to do. Pretend, pretend, pretend…_

An equalist with skilled fingers twists her hair into an intricate braid, her fingers twining through the Avatar's brown mane with uncanny precision, pinning back her masterpiece with a crisp white veil, before leaving Korra to her thoughts, allowing the girl a few minutes of peace, perhaps because she's ordered to, perhaps out of pity, or perhaps it's that feeling of sympathy that woman seem to be so vulnerable to. Whatever it is, Korra is more than grateful for the chance to regroup, to get her head on straight and remember why this wedding is doing more good than harm, but all she can seem to think about is ocher eyes and a scarf that's still in strips on her bedroom floor.

Sick of looking at her tired reflection in the mirror, even makeup couldn't quite mask the bags under her eyes, she wanders quietly to the window overlooking the city, digging her nails into the windowsill as she counts the rain clouds in the sky, pregnant with unshed raindrops; her and Bolin used to do this on ugly, autumn days- _It was our mother that taught us how to do thi_s_, _he had told her, his tone hushed with memory_, she used to tell us that rain cleansed the earth, and we should appreciate just like we do the sun_. She gets to 100 before an equalist knocks on her door and barges in, dragging her gracelessly from the foggy window, and escorting her to the chapel downstairs.

It's beautiful, really it is, all dark woods and stained glass that casts ethereal shadows along the flawless walls, and for a minute, she's sure she's dreaming, and maybe, _just maybe_, she'll wake up on Air Temple Island and all of this will have been some type of distended nightmare, but something about the way Amon looks standing at the end of the aisle, his chest puffed out in seemingly infinite power, crushes any hope she may have had.

She stands alone at the end of the aisle; she had asked that Amon leave her mother and father out of this; she didn't want to face them, to lie to them like she's lied to the rest of the city, and even if she tells them truth, she's not sure if she'll be able to handle the sadness in their eyes. It would be like all their lives, they were raising a cow for slaughter. _It's for their own good, _she tells herself over and over again, but really, she knows it's for _her _own good.

The music starts as the sound of organ rumbles like a monster through the church, assaulting her ears and causing her stomach to drop to her knees. She breathes out shakily and steps onto the aisle; simultaneously, she hears the rain start, assaulting the roof with malice, and she thinks, perhaps, the spirits are weeping for her.

Her feet move instinctually down the aisle, following the footsteps of a thousand other blushing brides. She tries to stare straight ahead, to ignore the faces and focus her attention forward, but she can't help the way her eyes skim the crowd, noting that many of the people she's never even met, councilmen and police officers and city workers, all foreign to her, but near the middle of the church, she catches Tenzin's eye, his face grim and unreadable as their eyes lock momentarily. His presence there, although surprising, helps to soothe her, just a tiny bit. She wonders where Pema is, confused for a second why his hand was threaded silently with the silver haired woman next to him, before realizing it was Bei Fong he was with. She looks different, her heavy police uniform traded for a green dress that flows only slightly past her knees. Their eyes meet for a split second, and Korra thinks it must be a trick of the light because for a moment, she's sure the chief had winked at her, the beginning of a smirk playing off her lips.

She doesn't have time to ponder the impossible though, because she feels fingernails ghost across her opposite arm and she pauses her march, shifting her head to the right to see Asami staring at her, her green eyes wide with pity that's Korra doesn't want- _doesn't need_. She moves her gaze down the row, catching Bolin's eye and attempting a smile for him. He does the same in response, but his eyes are dull and it's just not the same. She doesn't dare look to Bolin's right, where Mako stands brooding a hole into the floor with his golden eyes; instead, she squeezes Asami's arm in gratitude, allowing her fingers to linger just a moment too long on the heiress' pale skin before continuing down the aisle. She doesn't know why they came, why they would put themselves through this, but she's happy they did, having them here reminds her that, even now, she isn't alone

She reaches the end of the aisle too soon and faces her masked fiancé with an uncharacteristic grace, a feeling of numbing and totally inappropriate serenity setting over her. Some would call it shock- _fear_. But to her, it feels more like faith, faith that the universe has some sort of plan.

Her eyes lock with Amon's. He seems pleased, his eyes skimming over her body confidently as if to say, "_mine,"_ and settling finally on her blue orbs. She hears the official begin to drone on about love and commitment and what it means to be married in the presence of the spirits; the only competing sound is the assault of rain on the wooden roof and a _boom _of thunder in tandem with Amon's imposing _I do._

The official repeats the monologue to her, word-for-word, and when it comes her time to pledge her heart, her soul, to Amon and only Amon _forever_, she hesitates for a second, tearing her eyes away from where they stare coolly at the masked man and scans the crowd for a pair of ocher eyes. She finds them staring back at her, unreadable; he was always good at putting up those titanium walls around his heart.

"_I do_," she whispers, never looking away from Mako. Well not until Amon grabs her chin and pushes his mask over his mouth, his hands wrapping around her waist and pulling her forward, hovering for a second before lowering his mouth towards hers.

She closes her eyes, readying herself for the finalizing act, but it never comes. The moment is interrupted by a flash of lightning, a deafening crack, and a woman's piercing scream, causing her eyes to shoot open and her body to pull instinctively away, out of arms reach. She expected the storm to be the culprit. What she didn't expect was to see Mako standing with a smirk plastered on his face, all eyes on him.

"Did you really think we'd let her go that easy, Amon?" he asks mockingly, his voice smooth and confident.

He winks, and that's all it takes for the room to erupt into war.

_The battles just begun, _she realizes suddenly, only partially shocked by the twist of events, as she summons rocks to her hands. Reveling in the feeling of the earth twisting for her once again.

_And this time, only one of us is going to come out alive- _she concludes, lunging for Amon.

..

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_And it's going to be me._

**Author's Note: **Sorry that this is so late; I don't want to make excuses, but I've had a hectic couple of week, so my lateness is slightly justified! Thank you for taking the time to read this, and all the positive feedback and encouragement I've gotten is wonderful! I hope you enjoyed Part 2/3 (probably), and I'll try to get Part 3 up as soon as possible. As always, reviews are highly appreciated, so if you could take some time to give me some feedback it would be amazing! **I hope your day is wonderful** :)


	3. Chapter 3

Collapsed Dreams

Part 3: _Shattered Beyond Belief _

Somewhere in the midst of wedding him, Korra had forgotten about how fast the masked man really was, how cunning and slimy he could be; that's why she so utterly surprised when her rock cloaked fists strike nothing but air. She freezes for a second, a statue in the middle of a contained battle, utterly confused, because he was right in front of her and -_how the hell did I manage to lose him that fast?- _but her confusion is quickly overtaken by blinding, mind-numbing fear as a hand wraps tightly around her shoulder. She whips around, not thinking just doing, as flames dance precariously across her fingertips ready to strike- _to kill. _But it's not the red and white mask she expected, nor is it a boy with ocher eyes and emotional scars. Instead, it is Bolin, ignoring her ignited hands as he pulls her across the room hastily, dodging as much chaos as possible, his hands wrapped much too firmly around her elbow because, _of course_, he expects a fight.

She's confused- _so, so confused_- because everything is falling apart around her and all she can think is -_ why now? _It takes her far too long to realize their destination, a door that leads to a road that leads to safety, and she's offended. Because regardless of what anybody says, this has always been her battle, her job, her _destiny. What the hell do you think you're doing, _she wants to scream, because he has no right to drag her away from this like she's some helpless child, and she'll be damned if she leaves this battle without a few new scars.

She pulls away from him, her jaw set in a firm line that clearly shows her absolute dissatisfaction. His eyes beg her silently to obey, to not be stubborn just this once, as his hands reach out again this time with more power, more purpose, and she realizes, with shock, that he's going to drag her out if that's what it takes. But she's far too fast for him, ducking out of his grasp and tearing across the chapel towards where she thinks Amon must be.

Her dress bundles around her feet, slowing her down substantially; she stops momentarily to burn the fabric to oblivion from the thighs down and tear the veil haphazardly out of her hair, causing a flurry of wild waves to splay across her shoulder. _What a sight I must be_, she thinks as she kicks off her impractical shoes and continues barefoot across the wood floor, thankful for the calluses that cover her soles

She catches sight of Tenzin and a man she doesn't quite recognize locked in battle with half a dozen equalists, and she's about to go help them when the first bolo whizzes past her face, and she somehow finds herself surrounded.

Her muscles tense as adrenaline rushes through her veins, and suddenly all that's left in the world is her and five equalist scum.

She wastes no time in sending solid rock at the face of the one nearest to her, forcing the earth forward with enough pressure to crack his mask and send him flying back, knocking him out instantly. _Well that was easy, _she thinks cockily, her confidence rising as she knocks another one to the ground with a sweep of her legs and a charring blast of fire. Her opponent falling in a heap at her feet as she swings around to stop an oncoming jab, determined to escape this battle with chi intact. She grabs the equalist's wrist and uses her brute strength to swing him into a nearby pillar, barely wincing at the sound of breaking bones. Flames light up her hand as she turns and lunges towards another, dodging his bolas expertly, not even wincing as one grazes her ribcage. She uses firebending to propel herself above him and land directly behind him, weaving her feet with his in an attempt to trip him up. He lands on his stomach at her feet, and she quickly shackles his hands and feet together with earth.

She smirks to herself, standing over the restrained man, already basking in her small victory. She's so caught up in her own confidence, she somehow manages to forget completely about the fifth equalist, the one that stands in her shadow with malice in his eyes, the one who lights up a Kali stick and jabs it into her back as hard as he can, smirking at the animalistic sounds she makes.

She falls to her knees, her body folding in on herself, completely at the mercy of the electricity the rushes through her veins. She tries breathing through it, like Asami taught them all to do, her fingernails digging desperately into the hardwood floor, but she can't seem to hold back the noises, the grunts and growls, that escape her throat. All she can hear is the sounds her mouth is unwillingly making and the crackle of the electricity filling her head, and for a second- _or was it a lifetime-_ she's sure her head is going to explode. She feels the beginning of unconsciousness creeping over her, numbing the pain, and she's not sure if she's relieved or absolutely terrified because the only logical successor seems to be death.

She's about to give into the darkness that creeps into the corners of her vision, but then it all stops as blood suddenly rushes to her head, and the sounds of battle flood her ears once again. Her hands lift off the ground shakily, grabbing her stomach before she heaves forward, emptying what little she had eaten onto the floor in front of her, gagging until there is nothing left to bring up and then gagging some more. She knows she has to pull herself together, to get to her feet and save the world like Aang did before her, but she can't help but take one selfish second to pretend that this isn't really _her_ war, and she isn't really a half-baked avatar in training. It doesn't work- _it never does._

She pulls herself to her feet, her limbs shaking like those of a newborn animal, and, for a second, she's sure she's going to fall on her face, but somehow she manages to steady herself and maneuver her way to a pillar, using it to regain her bearings. She spots the bastard who nearly killed her, sprawled across the floor at the end of a pew, the work of airbending. _Thanks Tenzin, _she thinks as she approaches the unconscious man. Some part of her, the part that genuinely scares her, hopes he's alive, hopes that she'll get the chance to kill him slowly and watch him suffer, hopes she can laugh at his pain like he laughed at hers, but, judging by the way her feet are sticking to the red puddles on the ground, that's not the case.

Her senses are muddled, dulled by the electric abuse she had received, but somehow, she has enough sense to turn herself around and dodge the electrified glove that swings expertly towards her. She ducks randomly underneath another blow, barely eluding the glove as it skims the tips of her hair, leaving her with charred ends. She stumbles back clumsily, dodging blow-after-blow until she's backed into the corner.

She lashes out, dropping her defensive act in turn for a more hands-on technique, swinging her leg in a flaming arch. It drives her opponent back a few feet, giving her just enough room to fake around him and jab her fist into the sensitive spot right underneath his neck before kicking him in the back, dead center, forcing him into the corner and using the surrounding brick to shackle him there. He swears at her, struggling helplessly against his restraints, but she pays no mind to him, ducking behind a propped door to catch her breath and scout the area for Amon.

For some reason, her eyes lock on the ornate doorway, the one that leads out to the stormy mountainside, and she somehow knows that's where she needs to go. She glances around, finding her path conveniently clear and bolts across the room, slipping out into the darkness before anybody has the chance to notice.

At least that's what she thinks as her bare feet begin to trace bigger, more prominent footprints in the damp earth, determined to find Amon before the trail goes cold. The rain beats down above her, soaking her instantly, but that's okay because now she's in her element.

She hears him before she sees him, even above the sound of rain beating against the earth. His footsteps, too light, too measured, race after hers, and she freezes, waiting for his hand to wrap pseudo-intimately around her shoulder and try to pull her back to safety, try to drag her out of a battle she's already far too invested in. _Let him try,_ she thinks aggressively to herself, stiffening her shoulders, and ignoring the sting of the rain on her raw back.

The physical contact never comes.

"If you're going after him, I'm coming with you," Mako says too calmly, his voice carrying from a spot directly behind her as he reaches his hand forward, attempting to twine it with hers, but she pulls her fingers away too fast, whipping around to face him with nothing but rage in her eyes. She's so damn angry, angry because he still doesn't see that he's her only weakness: the only person that's ever made her second guess herself, compromise herself, and he doesn't seem to understand that that day in the woods would have ended a hell of a lot differently if he didn't try to play hero, to save her even though she's the one who's supposed to do the saving. It's all so clear to her now, clear that this is a fight she has to finish on her own: no heroes, no knights in shining red armor. Just her and Amon.

"Go away, Mako" she says, no hint of desperate teenage affection left in her hardened voice, "this isn't your fight. It hasn't been for a long time."

For a split second, he looks hurt, like she's just slapped him across the face, his eyes widened with shock, but then those walls come up again, stronger than ever, leaving his expression unreadable.

She turns to leave, to push forward through the muck and rain, but before she can even step forward, his hand wraps around her wrist, far too possessively for her taste,

"I'm not letting you go alone," he growls over the wind, his fingers tightening around her wrist, in yet another showing of heroic courage- _Like that worked out so well the first time,_ she thinks mockingly.

"I don't need your permission, _City Boy_" she whispers, venom tainting her pretty voice as she rips her wrist away from him before whipping around and stomping away. She begs him silently not to follow, not to play hero and just let her go, but obviously that's not how he's wired because all too fast he's on her flank again. She feels his fingers grip her arm once again, pulling her back a few steps.

It must be uninhibited adrenaline that causes her too whip around and push him into a nearby tree, not even flinching as his skull snaps back and collides with the bark.

She hears him swearing incoherently to nobody in particular as he tries to wrap his head around what just happened, and she takes advantage of his momentary confusion, using the time to freeze him to the tree with messy, but efficient, waterbending.

"You'll thank me for this someday," she whispers before disappearing into the shadows, the sound of relentless rain replacing Mako's desperate pleas.

_Oh Spirits, do I hope I'm right._

Her feet squelch in the mud, the muted sound of rain pounding against her ears as she pushes forward, further and further into the woods.

By the time she spots him, standing like some sort of delirious spirit in the moonlit clearing, she's lost sense of time, of direction, and she knows it's now or never. Tonight she will either kill or be killed - either way, _it's too soon_.

He doesn't say anything, nor does he turn to face her; he shows no sign of knowing her presence, but judging by the way his fingers twitch impatiently, he knows far more than he'd ever let on. She stops on the edge of the clearing, sinking immediately into the mud as she stands. Waiting. Watching.

"Glad you could make it, _Korra_," he says mockingly; her name sounds perverted rolling off his lips like that, and she realizes, with a start, that he's never actually said it before, not alone at least. It's always been preceded by Avatar, and, suddenly, she feels the change in the atmosphere. Whatever one-sided romance has been developing over the last month, that feeling akin to affection that seems to have haunted precariously above them, has been replaced by hatred, a poison so deeply rooted it seems to have manifested itself to the area around him, as the trees loom eerily above them and the rain quiets to a deceivingly gentle patter.

When he turns to face her, she's surprised to see the mask has been discarded, probably six feet under mud by now. What she's not surprised to see is his complete lack of scarring nor the way the raindrops dance a little too perfectly around his cloaked figure. Maybe she's always known deep down_, _known he was far too slick to be anything but a complete and absolute hypocrite.

"Nice look for you," she deadpans back, putting on a brave facade, "Since when did you get rid of that famous scar of yours."

He laughs, the slick kind of laughter that legitimately makes her feel dirty, like it would take weeks just to wash away the feeling of her skin crawling.

"You obviously didn't come her to talk," he says smoothly, stepping closer to her, rapidly closing the gap between them until he's merely an arms length away, "Tell me, _Korra_, why have you come."

She wants to tell him to stop using her damn name like that, to stop lessening its meaning with his poison tongue that preaches nothing but destruction, but instead, she plays along, moving a step closer and standing on her tiptoes as she presses her lips to his ear.

"Why, I've come to kill you, _Amon._"

They share a second of intimate silence, pregnant with tension, far too close to be appropriate given the scenario, neither quite willing to make the first move. She feels his hand twitch a little, a fraction of a centimeter, and that's all it takes to make her fly backwards, just as an ice dagger whizzes past her face.

"I'd like to see you try," he smirks, sending dagger after dagger towards her. His aim is precise, only ever missing her by mere millimeters, and she's forced to take the defense as she dodges and swerves between them, cursing as one grazes her arm. She stomps her foot, erecting a wall of earth in front of her and sends it forward, aiming to knock Amon right off his feet, but he clears the hurdle effortlessly, sending a tidal wave of water at her before his feet even touch the ground. Fire coats her palm as she cuts through the wave messily, creating a cloud of steam that blinds her momentarily. She launches flames forward relentlessly not quite sure where she is aiming anymore. He's too damn fast for her, ducking and dodging, snaking his way closer and closer until he's close enough to reach out and grab her arm, twisting it behind her back painfully as he wraps his free hand around her throat, blocking her airway. She gasps for air, struggling against his hold, kicking and scratching without much result, finally resorting to spitting weakened flames over her shoulder, despite the burns they inflict on the back of her throat. They lick at his face precariously, teasing the pigment of his flawless skin, threatening to legitimately burn him. He stumbles back a little, and she uses the opportunity to her advantage, summoning a large lump of earth and sending it at his stomach as hard as she can, knocking the air right out of him. He falls backwards with a _thump, _the mud immediately forming around his body like a second skin as she stands in the background gasping in air.

She summons rock to her hand, forming it into a makeshift dagger and makes her way to the slightly stunned Amon.

She thought this would be easier, taking his life, but she can't help the single second of hesitation that freezes her limbs and leaves her confused. _Maybe there's a better way to do this,_ she ponders.

That's all the time Amon needs to take control of her body, bloodbending her into a gasping mess. She struggles against his hold, fighting the feeling of helplessness that comes with her body being violated in such a way, but his bending is just to practiced, and he forces her back first into the mud with a mere flick of his wrist.

"Such a shameful way to ruin a beautiful dress," he tsks above her, kicking her rib cage hard and tightening his grip on her body. She groans as her blood burns and her head pounds, her world spinning like a carousel, as he delivers yet another well-placed kick, this one connecting with her face. She manages to turn her head back just in time to see the dagger he pulls dangerously from his robe, the one that reflects the moonlight like a mirror. He stands over her, the deceptively beautiful weapon pointed decidedly at her heart.

"Goodbye, Korra," he laughs as he drives the dagger down.

Something about the moment, the way his eyes glow mirthlessly in the moonlight, pumps her adrenaline faster, and she manages to fight his hold just enough to roll to the left. The dagger missed her heart completely, digging instead through her rib cage and popping out of her back. She growls trying to ignore the flashing pain for just one more minute as she takes advantage of her freed limbs, using a block of earth to trip a befuddled Amon before shackling his hands and feet to the ground.

She pulls herself into an upright touching her stomach shakily, her fingers dragging across the dagger handle with muted confusion. She hears Amon groan, struggling against her weak bonds, realizing shakily that this might just be her last chance to make a difference as she crawls over to where Amon lays facing the moon. She straddles his hips, groaning in pain.

She grips the handles of the dagger painfully, flinching as the shock rolls through her body, and tries not to think too hard as she clamps her eyes shut and pulls it out in one swift, measured motion, groaning as it exits her body caked in her blood.

Her hands shake as she moves the dagger towards his heart, and she can feel the pull of his bloodbending again, desperate and sloppy in the face of defeat because underneath that rock-hard exterior, even he is afraid to die. She fights against the pull, calling upon Avatar Kyoshi to give her the strength to do what must be done.

"Spirit's forgive me," she says as she raises the dagger above her head, ready to bring it down at any second, and she's about to do it, to kill him like she should have had the courage to do a long time ago, but something makes her stop, it's not fear this time. It's humanity; it's Aang whispering in her ear and telling her what needs to be done; it's the way she feels as the dagger falls out of her hands and her fingertips find his forehead and chest, her eyes lighting up the night sky as his bending disappears forever, and somehow, once her eyes return back to their normal color, and she realizes just what she has done, everything feels alright, like the universe is at peace. Even as she crawls off of Amon, a bloody heap of flesh, and collapses on the ground next to him, drained. Even as she takes Aang's hand and follows him all too willingly the Spirit World. Even as the rain stops and the world moves on without her.

..

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..

That's how Mako finds them some time later, Amon shackled to the ground screaming to the spirits incoherently, teling them that they'd made a mistake, that he was trying to fix the world not destroy it, and Korra lying, limp and lifeless, in a puddle of her own blood. No matter how long he lives, Mako doesn't think he'll ever forget the way the moon reflected off her unseeing eyes, blue and glassy like a stagnant ocean. Or the way her mouth is twisted, just barely, into the beginning of a smile, bruises splashed hauntingly across her face

And when he cradles her cold body to his chest, begging the spirits to bring her back, to take him instead, his screams mixing eerily with Amon's, he swears he can still hear her laughter, booming euphorically above him in the form of residual thunder, the wind tickling his teaar-stained cheek, ghosting across his skin with a tenderness that feels far too paranormal.

He wants to kill Amon with his bare hands, to strangle him and beat him until his eyes are as blank as Korra's, but he can't bring himself to undo her last moments, to make her accomplishments null, so instead he screams and screams and screams until he can't feel his throat and the sun lights up the sky once again.

..

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_And this time, only one of us is going to come out alive_, she had thought to herself cockily.

She couldn't have been more right.

**Author's Note: **Well, I am very happy to say that this story is officially complete! It's taken me such a long time to do, and I really hope you enjoyed it. As always, reviews are highly appreciated and will help me to produce better-quality work, so love it or hate it, I want to know why. **Have a great day!**


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